"Prince King, Prince Frost, your father's wish to see you." A little hunched man peaked through the wooden door, scanning the vast outdoor training arena for the heirs.
  Jett placed his hand on the door, the mere sight of the boy's fingertips made the servant quiver in his rags. The door creaked open, the servant stepping back with ever centimeter. "Thank you, James, notify them we'll be just a moment."
  His rough voice crammed a stutter into the poor slave, "A-actually, i-it's quite, uhm, i-important. U-Urgent in f-fact!"
  Groaning, Jett swung the door open and turned away to collect a range of weapons and dump them into James' arms. "Take those back." He demanded.
  Following, Wren placed a second pile of weapons onto the little man's shaking grasp - one or two of the blades poke or dug into his weary skin, creating new scars to accompany the one's he already bore. "Thank you, James." The silver-haired heir added, a hint of questionable kindness in his voice. The two made their way to the meeting chambers, Wren's eyes often faded out of focus to Jett's stern glare ahead. "Why do you always look so angry?" He pondered, his march quickening slightly to walk alongside his partner.
  "You know why." He replied.
  "I know, but I like the way your voice growls when you say it." Wren teased, triggering a flush of embarrassment in Jett's face.
  "Drop the teasing, would you? I'm not in the mood." The future high-king held the bridge of his nose and sighed at the boy's immaturity.
  "Aaron's a pest, his strength comes from anger whilst other's only get sloppy and unfocused. That's all he's trying to do."
  "I know, and it still pisses me off!" Jett stopped and turned quickly, raising his voice which made it echo throughout the empty halls.
  As his face dropped into regret, Wren smiled shortly. "It's working because you're convincing yourself it is. It's just a vicious cycle that'll end up killing you, stemming from your fear of not living up to your father's expectations."
  Jett looked as if he was about to burst, his fists clenched and he gritted his teeth. However, the more he and Wren stared at each other in silence, the less he felt he could. Eventually, he let it out in a simple, calm breathe. Then, continued walking. "Stop bringing that up, it's not helping." He muttered, hatefully.
  "You're doing fine. His reign will continue a good decade at the least, leaving you plenty of time to complete your training." Wren caught up to him, the pace now quicker than before.
  "Tell that to him. My dad has this obsession with me being stronger - especially since Black was the better of both of us. If I can't succeed him with minimal effort, what am I?" The conflicted earth user dug his hands into his pockets, his glare down at the royal red carpet over the midnight purple bricks of the palace.
  Wren had stopped, his entire physical being hung low. "My partner..." He uttered under his breathe, shocking the other heir into turning around to him.
  "Of course, I'm sorry. Come on, we'll be late." He flashed a small smile to Wren, bringing his mood back up a bit. They continued their walk, Jett beginning a more lighthearted conversation about the first time they started to work as a duo to beat Black - they'd almost won that time.

As they reached their destination, they breathed calmly before pushing open the doors, a bittersweet horror awaited them. The table was overturned, chairs tossed everywhere and at the back of the room, King Crow stood over the bleeding corpse of High-King King. King Frost stood feet away, pure disturbance plastered over his face. The heirs joined in his overwhelming bewilderment before Jett stepped forward, shouting down the room. "You bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
  "Silence, boy." Crow instantly snapped back, a single finger pointing him out.
  "Like hell I'm taking orders from you, you filthy traitor! Explain yourself!!"
  "King, lower your tone." King Frost had suppressed his concern for the consequences of the high-king being murdered and now stood in his lanky posture, pushing his spectacles up his nose slightly.
  "Father, this is high treason! What will the rest of Stirly think?" Wren came to his partner's side, clearly insanity had infected them in their adulthood.
  "Indeed, this is certainly not the most efficient course of action, but explanable."
  "I should God damn hope so!" Jett growled, his cold eyes didn't move from the murder, mockingly kicking at the body and further checking he was deceased.

Several minutes earlier, the three king's had met up in the room to discuss any updates and plan changes. After the high-king had the heirs called for, Crow had asked to go over the plan again, his posture strangely relaxed and cocky as opposed to rough and filled with envy-enduced hatred for the other father's. By the time High-King King's entire bloody, disturbing and perilous vision had been spoken through, the other kings' patience had run thin. Then suddenly, King Crow flatly stated: "That's not going to work."
  The High-King's eyes bulged open with seething surprise before answering back to him through a confused laugh. "Excuse me?"
  Crow leaned forward, his calm smile making the superior man's eyes twitch with anger. "It's a plan filled with delusion and lucky chances."
  Frost by this point had sunk down in his seat, cringing whilst trying to discreetly signal the lower king to shut his mouth. The highest authority tried to contain a fit of rage but ultimately failed and tossed the table across the room, shrieking at the top of his lungs. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIOR IN SUCH A MANNER, NEVERMIND THE FILTH THAT LEAKS FROM YOUR SPITEFUL LIPS, LEARN YOUR PLACE OR I SHALL PUT YOU THERE, CROW--" His bellowing voice shook the earth like an earthquake hit that one room in particular, so when it suddenly stopped alongside his unbearably loud yell, Frost knew something was wrong.

As it turned out, Crow had catapulted himself off his seat. Instead of a punch, kick or physical attack to break out some kind of overpowered combat, an antique dagger was thrust into King's chest and seeped with his blood. It dropped all over the floor and quickly created a puddle. Drops were cast onto the concrete floor as the second eldest man in the room coughed and spluttered out blood and saliva, wretchedly gasping for breathe. As he tried to step back from the blade, Crow stepped further forward, digging the blade even further into him and twisting it savagely. The more blood that was coughed up, the more a grin came to Crow's face. They had at some point backed up into the middle of the room, then let go of each other and High-King King fell; murdered. The second his body had hit the floor, the doors were opened, and the victim's son stepped inside.

Going over the story allowed heads to level, the heirs placing themselves at the repositioned table. Crow placed back and forth patiently. Frost was the first to speak aside. "Wrong in his ways, Crow thwarted the high-king's questionable plan. This may give us a better chance to restrategise."
  Wren had his eyes set on Jett, who feelings on the matter changed every second. After a silent moment, he then replied to his father, "so, how do we? We were working toward all out war for so long, are we supposed to just scrap the idea entirely?"
  Frost glanced at Crow. Crow glanced at Frost. Crow sat at the head of the table. "Almost. Gentlemen, we live in a dumping ground. Dumping grounds don't go to war."
  "So what are you suggesting, Crow?" Jett advanced the conversation abruptly.
  There was a silence, they all looked around at each other, but all eyes eventually came to Crow, who leaned back in the throne and lifted his chin above the rest. "We need to make some changes around here." On his face, gradually grew a crafty smirk.